


scw5 - firsts

by bonebo



Series: Shimadacest Week '17 [5]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Comfort, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-07
Updated: 2017-01-07
Packaged: 2018-09-15 13:31:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9237233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonebo/pseuds/bonebo
Summary: Genji is sixteen, when his father first forces the handle of the dagger into his hand, and gives him the order to kill.





	

Genji is sixteen, when his father first forces the handle of the dagger into his hand, and gives him the order to kill.

The target kneels before him on the wooden floor of the council room--a widowed woman in her seventies, thin hair pulled back into a tight bun, her eyes dark and wet amid the soft wrinkles of her worn face. She’s been one of the palace servants for over forty years--stayed in the kitchen, mostly, where she would frequently leave out trays of his favorite sweet pastries and always ruffle his hair with a smile--and he grew up alongside her, one of the two dozen women who were just like her but weren’t.

She was his favorite servant, the one with the best recipes, the warmest smile. Always beaming when she said his name, like it was a pleasure just to know him.

And she had been caught in the oyabun’s private office at half past midnight, with a hacking device clutched in her fist.

“Genji.” The oyabun’s voice is cold, still angry; distant, from where he sits on his pedestal, at the back of the room. “Do it. Show this traitor what happens to people who threaten your family.”

Genji weighs the dagger in his hand, swallows thickly. He tears his gaze away from the woman he’s known all his life, and glances up at his father--beside him, to where Hanzo stands, silent and still. Their gazes lock for a moment, and Hanzo can read his brother’s pain like an open book: he doesn’t want to do this. Has never had to before.

Hanzo wonders, idly, how Genji has escaped this particular burden of their lifestyle for so long.

Too long, the council says, and Hanzo finds himself agreeing; because if this was as simple as a servant caught trying to steal information, she would have been cut down where she stood and no one but the oyabun any the wiser. But Hanzo has heard the rumors from the council’s mouths, has seen the way they look at Genji.

 _Weak link,_ they say, when Genji skips out on training yet again. _Bad seed_ , when he brings another whore into his bed.

This display is less about punishing the servant for her lack of loyalty. It’s entirely about Genji proving his own.

 _“Genji.”_ The oyabun growls again; a warning in his tone, this time. He will not wait much longer--cannot afford to, because the council members gathered around the room are already starting to murmur, their eyes dark in the shadows and glittering like wolves. Genji’s gaze darts back to the servant kneeling before him, and his grip tightens around the dagger like he’s scared it will leap from his hand. From where he stands, so far away, Hanzo can see the swallow of his throat, the strain in his knuckles, the way the thick cords of his biceps quiver.

When he strikes, it’s a quick blow--something almost impulsive, done before the nerve leaves him--a powerful slash across the yielding folds of the woman’s throat. Hanzo winces internally as crimson arcs in the air; _messy_ , the council will say. _Undisciplined. Undignified._

It only stings so badly because he knows it’s true.

Genji has turned away before the servant hits the ground, storming past the guards with his head tucked low and his stride urgent. The dagger clatters to the floor by the doorway, and Genji is gone.

With murmured permission, Hanzo follows him.

He finds his brother on the balcony outside their quarters, sitting with his knees hugged to his chest and his gaze unfocused, staring out at the empire that was not, would never be, his. Hanzo watches him for a moment, then sinks smoothly down beside him, close enough so their shoulders touch.

Genji is shaking--minute, tiny tremors that make his muscles twitch.

Hanzo remembers his first kill.

“...it gets easier,” he offers, glancing at Genji with a frown; Genji’s eyes dart toward his own then away again, his tongue swipes over his lower lip. There’s a spatter of blood on his cheek, and when Hanzo reaches in to smear it away with his thumb, Genji flinches.

Hanzo recoils. “Genji, you did well. Look at me.”

Genji disobeys, because that is what he does. His arms tighten around his legs, like he’s trying to condense in upon himself, make himself nothing.

“Genji--”

“She didn’t even _fight_.”

Hanzo blinks at him, frowns. “...of course she didn’t fight. She was surrounded by guards--”

“She just knelt there, and let me…” Genji swallows, buries his face in his knees; like muffling the words will somehow make them less true, put the blood back in the servant’s veins. “She just let me kill her.”

Hanzo lets a sigh slip past his lips, and leans in closer, lays an arm across Genji’s shoulders to pull him in. His brother comes willingly, foregoing hugging himself to wrap his arms around Hanzo’s midsection instead; like he’s the stronger one to hang onto. Hanzo takes the extra weight with a hum, lets Genji all but climb into his lap like they’re kids again, combs his fingers through the wild green locks of Genji’s hair.

“It gets easier,” he says. He presses a kiss to Genji’s temple, tastes the salt of his sweat there. “You did well. You’ll be okay.”

Genji doesn’t reply, and Hanzo doesn’t comment when his brother starts to cry; when the sobs shake his body and wet Hanzo’s yukama with tears, leave him gasping like he’s the one with his throat slit.

He remembers his first kill.


End file.
